Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Pisces (2018)

  Was he missing a leg? Was it just a small dick? “I don’t like people,” I said. “I have no friends. I have no one to tell.” This was a lie. I would surely be telling Claire at some point about the pussy-eating in detail and, I figured, probably every inch of his body. As soon as she was better and ready to hear it. It would probably even cheer her up. “Okay,” he said. “But if you don’t like it, there is nothing I can do about it. If you feel frightened by it—by me—I can only go back into the water and swim away. I won’t be able to see you again.” “Come on,” I said. “Would you stop? I won’t not like it. There’s nothing that can scare me.” That wasn’t entirely true, but I believed it. It’s an art to believe your own lies. Some people think you have to actively convince yourself in order to believe your own lies, but in that moment, I just didn’t know any other reality than everything being okay—no matter what he showed me. I knew only that silence and the wanting him to come up on the rock with me. I didn’t think I could be scared of anything. I just wanted him to be with me. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He put his beautiful white arms on the rock and hoisted himself up, then flipped himself over so that he was sitting next to me. Around his pelvic region was a thick beige sash, like an oilcloth. Below it was the wet suit: scaly and coal black, covered in barnacles. At the bottom were what looked like a pair of fins or flippers, of the same color as the suit, connected to the rest of the black rubbery scales. He looked more like a scuba diver than a swimmer and more like a thick piece of cod than a scuba diver. The suit seemed old—like it had been soaking in the ocean for years—with all of the barnacles attached to it, bits of seaweed. It wasn’t sleek or shiny like I had seen on the surfers. It almost looked like the rocks we were seated on. Like he was part of the ocean landscape. The flippers too really looked like fish fins: thick by where I guessed his ankles would be and then fading to a translucency at the bottom. Sheer black. They reminded me of a black bubble-eye fish I had at thirteen who died while my father and I were traveling to visit Annika at college. When we returned home, the fish was floating on her side at the top of the water, the tank stinking. I remember feeling embarrassed and not wanting to show my father she had died. I wasn’t afraid he would blame me for her death, but something about her curvy little body, just floating there, made me feel exposed.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  I tried not to look disappointed. But I was. What the hell? Was I not good enough for him to get a room? Did I look like I wanted to fuck in a bathroom? Maybe this was sexier. Maybe this was like an honor, that he thought I would be wild enough. Anybody could fuck in a hotel room. Not everyone could fuck in the lobby bathroom. “Okay,” I said. “I’m game.” “You’ll see,” he said. “You’ll love it. The bathrooms here are super lush. They’re like their own little worlds. It will be fucking hot.” I didn’t tell him that I was already well acquainted with the bathrooms, that I had already hidden out in one doing a photo shoot. “I can’t wait to make that ass go up and down,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. I ordered another vodka and pineapple juice. Was this weird or was it okay? I didn’t even remember what day it was, and I wondered what most people my age were doing right now. Probably something boring involving children and applesauce. I should consider myself blessed. They would probably kill to be fucking in a bathroom at the Shalimar. I wondered what Jamie would think if he knew. Would he see me as hot and exciting? Would he be jealous? Or would I just seem desperate and pathetic? I drank and tried to blot those words from my mind. There were men and women at the bar engaged in conversations. I didn’t know how people could stand it, the regular interactions, conscious dating, trying to pass as normal or interesting. Nobody was that interesting and certainly no one was normal. So why was everyone wearing a mask? Why wasn’t everyone fucking in a bathroom? It turned out that there were three bathroom doors, not four. Now that I was paying attention to them as the place of our fucking, I saw that they were big, varnished oak doors with knockers on them, as though you were entering someone’s house. I knocked on the first one. “Can I help you?” came a man’s voice. “Sorry!” I said. I knocked on the next door. Garrett opened it and pulled me in. He had me by the hips and kissed me hard, his tongue in my mouth. It made me feel good, like he wanted me. “Look me in the eyes,” I said. He looked into my eyes and unbuttoned Steve’s coat, lifting it off my shoulders and dropping it on the ground. Still looking me in the eyes, he hoisted me up by the waist and sat me on the big black marble sink. I was turned on by the action of what he was doing, but not turned on in my vagina yet. Or maybe my vagina was turned on, but I wasn’t there yet. Like, I was and I wasn’t. Part of me was acting and part of me was enjoying it.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  Tomorrow she would drop me into the water, but maybe the water was only her lap. What if I would only be dropping to a warmer, deeper embrace? I moved against him again and again. As I moved, I imagined us beside a giant underwater sand castle. The walls of the castle were made of coral and sea crystals of all colors, textures, and sizes: peach, silver, pastel mint, cyan pieces embedded in translucent white chunks, big slabs made of thousands of tiny sparkling dark-green crystals, rusted gold rocks, transparent indigo pyramids, rosy sea glass, neon-orange honeycombs of coral. The castle had tall turrets and spires, and Theo and I were beside it, preparing to enter. But then I began to come and, as I did, the castle melted slowly to the ground. He and I clung together as the castle vanished, eclipsed by a wave of pleasure, disappearing from my inner vision. I didn’t stop moving until I rode over the peak of that orgasm. If anyone had looked at the rocks they would have seen a woman, thirty-eight years old, hopefully a little younger-looking, writhing against what looked like a large fish. Or maybe they would have seen her just riding the air. I wasn’t sure which was crazier. — When I got back to the house Steve was awake at the kitchen table, eating cereal, wearing a pair of blue striped pajamas, hairs sticking out from his balding head. I was drenched with sea spray and grime. He looked at me sternly. “Late-night swim?” he asked. “Just a beach walk,” I said. “I don’t know what went on while we were gone,” he said calmly. “But why is it that every time you come here, disaster strikes?” “Don’t worry, I’m leaving tomorrow night,” I said. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not telling you to leave. I only mean—your sister just wants to be good to you. She only wants you to be happy.” “I know.” “But you can’t not make a mess.” “I guess I can’t.” “If it were up to me, we would have hired a dog sitter. But Annika wanted to give you the time here. You know she’d do anything for you.” “Would she?” I asked. “Yes!” he said, as though it were crazy that I didn’t know. But the truth was, I didn’t. “Whose blood is that? What happened?” he asked, pointing to the sofa. He had turned over the pillows. “It’s—” But just as I was about to answer, he cut me off. “No, you know what? I don’t know what happened and I don’t want to know.” “Okay,” I said. “But it’s my blood.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  He peeled my underpants down my legs. “And your vagina is so gorgeous. I just want to put my face in it all the time and live there.” “You should,” I said nervously, and giggled. I watched the top of his head as he ate me. Even though he had said before that he wanted to eat me all night I still felt nervous about how long it might take me to come. I made moaning sounds. My clit felt good but my mind stayed disconnected. I wanted him in me, wanted to fuck him, face-to-face. As if he knew how I was feeling, he put a finger inside me. I gasped. “I want your cock so bad,” I whined. “How much?” he said with his face still buried in my pussy. “So bad,” I said. I could see that he was stroking himself as he ate me. I could feel his cock, hard against my shin. “Give me your cock please,” I said. “Please can I have it?” He climbed back on me so his face was over my face and his chest on my chest, his cock nestled between my thighs, resting on my wet clit and lips. “I’m on the pill,” I said. “We don’t need to use anything.” Then I started laughing at the absurdity of everything. Was I really talking about birth control with a merman? It was true that I was on the pill, sort of. I wasn’t great about taking it. Sometimes I would forget for days at a time. Occasionally I would just go off it for a month. Jamie knew this, but in all our years together I never got knocked up. He would always pull out and come on my belly. He feared me getting pregnant, how that would impinge on his freedom—the emotional fallout from an abortion, or worse yet, a baby. He was afraid, but not enough to wear a condom. I couldn’t remember if I had taken my pill the day before, but could a merman really impregnate me? Would the child have legs or a tail? Perhaps it would have legs and a tail, or multiple legs, like an octopus. I couldn’t imagine Theo was riddled with disease either, considering he spent his life in saltwater. He was like a saline boy. I didn’t know how many others he had fucked, and now I didn’t really care. Let him give me his diseases, I thought. Let him give me some strange sea syphilis or whatever. I want it. I don’t care. Looking into my eyes, he rubbed the crease of my pussy with his cock. Then he slid his cock into me, so slowly. I gasped, he moaned, and I wanted to eat his moan. He was inside me.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  I am running through all the possible responses, trying to come up with one that registers I hear him but offers only the most banal words so that I’m not forced to follow up with even more words. “Yes,” I finally say, and to be perfectly honest, I am pretty proud of that yes, as it took everything in me to choke it out. I have never talked during sex beyond a few basic and brief assessments and acknowledgements. I have never watched pornography or even read pornographic material, so I don’t know how this is supposed to be done. I, who pride myself on my literary and verbal skills, am utterly speechless. Other than the talking, he is doing a good job down there. He seems not to tire of it and uses his tongue delicately and then more urgently until finally I use my words to ask him to please make his way inside of me. He pulls himself up and reaches over to his dresser drawer, saying that he needs to get a raincoat, which gives me pause. It seems like such an old-fashioned, odd way to say condom – for all his verbal straightforwardness, this is where he’s going to use a euphemism? He pulls it on and enters me with a quick thrust. It is only a matter of seconds before I come, digging my nails into his back and letting out a cry of pleasure. My whole body loosens and he stops moving, lying against me as I catch my breath. I apologize that I couldn’t wait for him. “Don’t be sorry, you did exactly what I wanted you to do,” he says. “How generous of you,” I say with a laugh. “Seriously, do you have any idea how thrilling it is for a man to make a woman come so easily?” he asks. “Most women I’ve been with don’t come like that, it takes a more nuanced effort.” But we are not done with each other yet. He slides back inside of me and I push him to the side so that I can be on top. I still have my strapless bra on and as I sit up, he wraps his arms around me and snaps it open, then flings it to the side. “I couldn’t bear to take this off earlier. If I saw you all at once I would have come on the spot, it would have been more than I could handle. You have amazing tits,” he says and I blanch; I loathe that word, finding it crass and demeaning. He runs his hands along my nipples, gently touching them and pinching them, then runs his hands down to hold my hips as he guides the rhythm of my movements on top of him. I watch as his breathing becomes shallow and his eyes close. When I feel him pulsing inside of me, I stop moving and lean forward to lie on top of him.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Moors; and the crusades against the Saracens in the Holy Land and the Moors in Spain were equally commended by an oecumenical council, the First Lateran (can. 13). The Moors were finally expelled from Granada under Ferdinand and Isabella, and then, unwearied, Spain entered upon a new crusade against Jews and heretics at home and the pagan Indians of Mexico and Peru. In Italy and Rome, where might have been expected the most zeal in the holy cause, there was but little enthusiasm.315 The aim of the Crusades was the conquest of the Holy Land and the defeat of Islam. Enthusiasm for Christ was the moving impulse, with which, however, were joined the lower motives of ambition, avarice, love of adventure, hope of earthly and heavenly reward. The whole chivalry of Europe, aroused by a pale-faced monk and encouraged by a Hildebrandian pope, threw itself steel-clad upon the Orient to execute the vengeance of heaven upon the insults and barbarities of Moslems heaped upon Christian pilgrims, and to rescue the grave of the Redeemer of mankind from the grasp of the followers of the False Prophet. The miraculous aid of heaven frequently intervened to help the Christians and confound the Saracens.316 The Crusaders sought the living among the dead. They mistook the visible for the invisible, confused the terrestrial and the celestial Jerusalem, and returned disillusioned.317 They learned in Jerusalem, or after ages have learned through them, that Christ is not there, that He is risen, and ascended into heaven, where He sits at the head of a spiritual kingdom. They conquered Jerusalem, 1099, and lost it, 1187; they reconquered, 1229, and lost again, 1244, the city in which Christ was crucified. False religions are not to be converted by violence, they can only be converted by the slow but sure process of moral persuasion. Hatred kindles hatred, and those who take the sword shall perish by the sword. St. Bernard learned from the failure of the Second Crusade that the struggle is a better one which is waged against the sinful lusts of the heart than was the struggle to conquer Jerusalem. The immediate causes of the Crusades were the ill treatment of pilgrims visiting Jerusalem and the appeal of the Greek emperor, who was hard pressed by the Turks. Nor may we forget the feeling of revenge for the Mohammedans begotten in the resistance offered to their invasions of Italy and Gaul.318 In 841 they sacked St. Peter’s, and in 846 threatened Rome for the second time, and a third time under John VIII. The Normans wrested a part of Sicily from the Saracens at the battle of Cerame, 1063, took Palermo, 1072, Syracuse, 1085, and the rest of Sicily ten years later. A burning desire took hold of the Christian world to be in possession of — "those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail’d For our advantage on the bitter cross." Shakespeare.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  But either by intuition, or because of some movement on Alessandro’s part, the Abbot understood at once what he was thinking, and began to smile. Then, hastily tearing off the shirt he was wearing, he took Alessandro’s hand and placed it on his bosom, saying: ‘Drive those silly thoughts out of your head, Alessandro. Lay your hand here, and see what I am hiding.’ And placing his hand on the Abbot’s bosom, Alessandro discovered a pair of sweet little rounded breasts, as firm and finely shaped as if they were made of ivory. It dawned on him at once that this was a woman, and without awaiting further invitation he immediately took her in his arms. But just as he was about to kiss her, she said: ‘Wait! Before you come any closer, there is something I want to tell you. As you can gather, I am not a man, but a woman. I am also a virgin, and I set out from home in order to obtain the Pope’s permission for my marriage. I know not whether to call it your good fortune or my misfortune, but from the moment I saw you, the other day, I burned with a love deeper than woman has ever experienced for any man. Hence I am resolved to have you as my husband rather than any other. But if you do not want to marry me, you must leave me at once and return to your own place.’ Alessandro had no idea who she was, but in view of the size of her retinue he judged her to be a rich noblewoman, and could see for himself that she was very beautiful. So without wasting too much time in thought, he replied that if this was what she desired, he was only too ready to oblige. She then sat up in bed, handed him a ring, and made him plight her his troth beneath a small picture of Our Lord, after which they fell into each other’s arms, and for the rest of the night they disported themselves to their great and mutual pleasure. They decided carefully what they should do, and when it was daybreak, Alessandro arose and, retracing his steps, stole away from the room without anyone realizing where he had passed the night. Then, reeling with happiness, he set out once more with the Abbot and her retinue, and several days later they arrived in Rome. They had been staying in the city for only a few days when the Abbot, attended by Alessandro and the two knights, was received in audience by the Pope. Having paid him their respects in the appropriate fashion, the Abbot began: ‘As you, Holy Father, must know better than all others, whoever desires to live a good and honest life is obliged to shun as best he may every possible motive for behaving otherwise.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  I’m more than a little delighted when he shoos them out of the house and closes the door behind them. I’m making progress: a dog in the room to a dog outside the room to dogs outside the house. He takes me through the house, a combination of a bachelor pad and a family home, as if it can’t quite decide what it wants to be, and that is probably true depending on who is inhabiting it at any given moment. His bedroom is in an open lofty area with a king-size bed, its plain brown comforter covered in dog hair. We stand near the bed, quiet now that the house tour is over. He kisses me as I pull my shirt over my head and kick off my shorts so that I am standing in my lingerie. He unbuttons his shirt and I am intrigued by how taut and muscular his arms, shoulders and chest are. I’ve never been with a man so brawny and hairless and I love the way his skin feels, smooth and warm. He presses himself against me until I back up and sit on the edge of the bed. Apologizing that he wasn’t expecting company today, he pulls back the hair-covered blanket to expose sheets that look rumpled but clean enough if I’m not being fussy, which right now, I’m definitely not. I take note that this is the third man in a matter of weeks who has excused the conditions of his home because he wasn’t anticipating having a guest over. I seem to push ahead even as my dates are ready to kiss and say goodbye; it’s never enough for me. He climbs on top of me, stroking my body and working his way down until his mouth is between my legs. Then he looks up at me, a boyish grin lighting up his face. “You take good care of yourself,” he says. At this I smile: I do take care of myself. If there’s one benefit to the swell of anger raging inside of me, it’s that I work out like I’m on fire and sweat is the only thing that can douse it. The more rage I get out through heavy exercise, the less likely I am to expel it later through ugly, impassioned text missives to Michael. When he bought me my own Peloton bike a year earlier, he could not have known how much it would actually come to help him too. #4 reaches for a condom that he must have placed discreetly under a pillow at some point, and I watch him unfurl it onto his penis. I feel decidedly awkward during this part of a sexual encounter – am I supposed to help with the condom or watch him put it on or avert my eyes?

• From The Decameron (1353)

  To my way of thinking, anyone who devotes his energies to anything but the service of God is a complete blockhead.’ She thus developed the habit of going to Rustico at frequent intervals, and saying to him: ‘Father, I came here to serve God, not to idle away my time. Let’s go and put the devil back in Hell.’ And sometimes, in the middle of their labours, she would say: ‘What puzzles me, Rustico, is that the devil should ever want to escape from Hell. Because if he liked being there as much as Hell enjoys receiving him and keeping him inside, he would never go away at all.’ By inviting Rustico to play the game too often, continually urging him on in the service of God, the girl took so much stuffing out of him that he eventually began to turn cold where another man would have been bathed in sweat. So he told her that the devil should only be punished and put back in

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The Abbot, far from being asleep, was locked in meditation on the subject of certain newly aroused longings of his. He had overheard the conversation between Alessandro and the landlord, and was listening, too, when Alessandro turned in for the night. ‘God has answered my prayers,’ said the Abbot delightedly to himself. ‘If I do not seize this opportunity, it may be a long time before another comes my way.’ Having firmly made up his mind, he waited for complete silence to descend on the inn, then he called out to Alessandro in a low voice, and, firmly brushing aside the latter’s numerous excuses, persuaded him to undress and he down at his side. The Abbot placed one of his hands on Alessandro’s chest, and then, to Alessandro’s great astonishment, began to caress him in the manner of a young girl fondling her lover, causing Alessandro to suspect, since there seemed to be no other explanation for his extraordinary behaviour, that the youth was possibly in the grip of some impure passion. But either by intuition, or because of some movement on Alessandro’s part, the Abbot understood at once what he was thinking, and began to smile. Then, hastily tearing off the shirt he was wearing, he took Alessandro’s hand and placed it on his bosom, saying: ‘Drive those silly thoughts out of your head, Alessandro. Lay your hand here, and see what I am hiding.’ And placing his hand on the Abbot’s bosom, Alessandro discovered a pair of sweet little rounded breasts, as firm and finely shaped as if they were made of ivory. It dawned on him at once that this was a woman, and without awaiting further invitation he immediately took her in his arms. But just as he was about to kiss her, she said: ‘Wait! Before you come any closer, there is something I want to tell you. As you can gather, I am not a man, but a woman. I am also a virgin, and I set out from home in order to obtain the Pope’s permission for my marriage. I know not whether to call it your good fortune or my misfortune, but from the moment I saw you, the other day, I burned with a love deeper than woman has ever experienced for any man. Hence I am resolved to have you as my husband rather than any other. But if you do not want to marry me, you must leave me at once and return to your own place.’ Alessandro had no idea who she was, but in view of the size of her retinue he judged her to be a rich noblewoman, and could see for himself that she was very beautiful. So without wasting too much time in thought, he replied that if this was what she desired, he was only too ready to oblige.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It was not until mid-afternoon that they were able to make their plight apparent to anybody on the shore or elsewhere in the vicinity who would come to their assistance. Halfway through the afternoon, in fact, a nobleman whose name was Pericone da Visalgo happened to pass that way as he was returning from one of his estates. He was riding along on horseback with several of his men, and when he saw the ship he immediately guessed what had happened. So he ordered one of his servants to try and clamber aboard without further delay and bring him a report on how matters stood. The servant had quite a struggle, but eventually he boarded the ship, where he found the young gentlewoman, frightened out of her senses, hiding with her handful of companions in the forepeak. On seeing him, the women burst into tears and repeatedly pleaded for mercy, but when they perceived that neither he nor they could understand what the other party was saying,4 they tried to explain their predicament by means of gestures. Having sized up the situation to the best of his ability, the servant reported his findings to Pericone, who promptly arranged for the women to be brought ashore along with the most valuable of those items on the ship that could be salvaged, and escorted them all to his castle, where he restored the women’s spirits by arranging for them to be fed and rested. He could see, from the richness of their apparel, that he had stumbled across some great lady of quality, and he quickly gathered which of them she must be because she was the sole centre of the other women’s attention. The lady was pallid and extremely dishevelled-looking as a result of her exhausting experiences at sea, but it seemed to Pericone that she possessed very fine features, and for this reason he resolved there and then that if she had no husband he would marry her, and that, if marriage proved to be out of the question, he would make her his mistress. Pericone, who was a very powerful, vigorous-looking fellow, caused the lady to be waited upon hand and foot, and when, after a few days, she had fully recovered, he found that she was even more beautiful than he had ever thought possible. He was greatly pained by the fact that they were unable to communicate with each other, and that he could not therefore discover who she was. Nevertheless, being immensely taken with her beauty, he behaved lovingly and agreeably towards her in an endeavour to persuade her to do his pleasure without a struggle. But it was no use: she refused to have anything to do with him; and meanwhile Pericone’s ardour continued to increase.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  SIXTH STORY Ricciardo Minutolo loves the wife of Filippello Sighinolfo, and on hearing of her jealous disposition he tricks her into believing that Filippello has arranged to meet his own wife on the following day at a bagnio and persuades her to go there and see for herself. Later she learns that she has been with Ricciardo, when all the time she thought she was with her husband. Elissa had nothing further to add, and after they had praised the skill of Zima, the queen called upon Fiammetta to proceed with the next story. ‘Willingly, my lady,’ replied Fiammetta, laughing gaily; and so she began: I should like to move away a little from our own city (which is no less fertile in stories for all occasions than in everything else), and tell you something, as Elissa has done already, of events in the world outside. Let us therefore proceed to Naples, and I shall describe how one of those prudes, 1 who profess such a loathing for love, was led by her lover’s ingenuity to taste the fruits of love before she even noticed they had blossomed. You will thus, at one and the same time, be forearmed against things that could happen, and entertained by those that actually did. In the ancient city of Naples, which is perhaps as delectable a city as any to be found in Italy, there once lived a young patrician, immensely rich and blue- blooded, whose name was Ricciardo Minutolo. 2 Although he was married to a charming and very lovely young wife, he fell in love with a lady who by common consent was far more beautiful than any other woman in Naples. A paragon of virtue, she was called Catella, and was married to a young nobleman called Filippello Sighinolfo, whom she loved and cherished more dearly than anything else in the world. So although Ricciardo Minutolo was in love with this Catella and did all the right things for winning a lady’s favour and affection, he was unable to make the slightest impression upon her, and had almost reached the end of his tether. Even if he had known how to free himself from the bonds of love, he was quite incapable of doing so, and yet he could neither die nor see any point in living. And one day, as he languished away in this manner, it happened that certain kinswomen of his urged him very strongly to call a halt to his philandering, pointing out that he was wasting his energies because Catella loved no man except Filippello, towards whom she was so jealously devoted that she suspected the very birds flying through the air, lest they should whisk him away from her. On learning of Catella’s jealousy, Ricciardo suddenly thought of a possible way to gratify his longings.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘The fact is that I am unable, in my husband’s absence, to withstand the promptings of the flesh and the powers of Love, which are so irresistible that even the strongest of men, not to mention frail women like myself, have often succumbed to them in the past and will always continue to do so. Living in the lap of luxury as I do, with nothing to occupy me, I have allowed my thoughts to dwell upon the pleasures of the senses, and fallen hopelessly in love. I realize of course that if this were to become known, it would be regarded as highly improper; but if it is kept secret I can’t really see any harm in it, especially since the God of Love has seen fit not to deprive me of my good judgement in the business of choosing a lover. On the contrary, he has greatly enhanced it by showing me that you, my lord, are worthy in all respects to be loved by a lady of my condition. For unless I am greatly deceived, you are the most handsome, agreeable, elegant and judicious knight to be found anywhere in the Kingdom of France; and just as I can claim to be without a husband, you for your part are without a wife. In the name, therefore, of the immense love that I bear you, I entreat you not to deny me your own, but to take pity on my youth, which I assure you is melting away for you like ice beside a fire.’ These last words brought such a spate of tears in their train, that although she had intended to entreat him still further, she was bereft of the power of speech. And lowering her eyes, she allowed her head to fall upon his breast, weeping incessantly and very nearly swooning with emotion. Being a knight of unimpeachable loyalty, the Count began to take her severely to task for this insane passion and to repulse the lady, who was already on the point of throwing her arms about his neck. With many an oath, he declared that he would sooner allow himself to be quartered than permit any such harm to be done to his master’s honour, whether by himself or anyone else. No sooner did the lady hear this than she forgot all about loving him and flew into a savage temper. ‘So!’ she said. ‘Am I to be spurned in this fashion by an upstart knight? It seems you want to break my heart, but I shall break yours, so help me God, or have you hounded off the face of the earth.’ Whereupon she ran her hands through her hair, leaving it all rumpled and dishevelled, after which she tore open the front of her dress, at the same time calling out in a loud voice: ‘Help! Help! The Count of Antwerp is trying to ravish me!’

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  Immediately, I can feel his semen dripping down my leg and look down to see it making a small puddle on the floor. When he walks away, I grab a paper towel to clean the floor and then join him to rinse off in the shower. We stopped using condoms when I agreed to be exclusive with him. He wants to see if any of his friends are hanging around the firehouse and asks if I mind stopping by before we go to the bar he is taking me to. Inside, he shows me his fire jacket hanging on a hook, his name in bold yellow letters on the back. “Now that is sexy,” I say. “Are there cameras in here?” This would be a real adventure, having sex in one of the gleaming red fire trucks parked in the huge garage. “What do you have in mind?” he asks with a chuckle. I raise my eyebrows at him and smile but then change my mind, imagining the scandalous fire-house sex tape that they’ll be all too happy to show on the local news. He takes me upstairs where there is a bar and a few grizzled, pot-bellied older men nursing bottles of beer, watching a basketball game. They don’t so much as glance at me when #5 shouts out a general hello, as if this is a secret boys’ clubhouse where girls are not allowed. He walks around the bar to grab a beer but then sees the refrigerator is locked, so mutters something to himself and says we can go. This whole scene is jarring and deflating to me – is this the crew that would come for me right now if there was a fire in my home? Where are the red- blooded, muscular firefighters? And why exactly are we here, to get free beer and refill the plastic cup with peanuts? Our next stop is a bar in town that is having an Oktoberfest celebration. It’s impossible to talk over the band and the large groups of friends that pile in, but there’s fun people-watching, and the band is playing music we know from the ’80s, so we sway to the music, singing along. I feel him press against me from behind, his hand sweeping my hair to the side, his breath hot on my neck as he whispers to me, “I like you, Laura.” This one small sentence feels like a victory, as I find it difficult to figure out what he’s thinking. I smile but don’t say anything back and he whispers, again, this time more urgently, “I really like you.” And then that’s it, he releases my hair and steps back from me and the moment passes. The next morning, I text him to thank him for taking me out and add that I’ve noticed he doesn’t touch me unless we’re having sex.

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  When he continues to putter around the small room, I pat the space on the bed next to me and beckon him to sit. It is amusing and surprising to me that I seem to have moved from being the downtrodden to the aggressor but I feel compelled to coax this tryst along as best I can. I am so nervous that I can’t believe I have the power to make someone else nervous, but in spite of my anxiety, I am determined. I don’t quite understand why I feel like I absolutely must have sex and with no particular concern for who it is that joins me in this pursuit, I just know that ever since my night with #1, I feel like I’m blindly stumbling into the sunlight after a long period of hibernation. I want to feel wanted and I need to prove to myself that my first try was not just a one-time windfall. That I’m here with someone who is at least ten years older than me, who has just had half a lung removed, who has worked for me in my home, who wears a cross and talks a lot about his passion for his church and has an inexplicable constellation of bath mats on his kitchen floor – none of that matters to me as much as the fact that he’s a muscular, fit man who is not repelled by me and there are no children on my radar at the moment. I almost whisper “hallelujah” when he finally leans toward me to kiss me. I pull my tank top off and help him with that damn strapless bra that I was worried would stymie #1 the last time (a note about the bra: when you have substantial boobs and you’ve nursed three children and you find a strapless bra that holds your boobs in place and miraculously makes them look firm and buoyant, not just like one solid row of breasts, you continue to wear that strapless bra no matter how hard it is to unhook). His shirt is off too and I see tattoos sprinkled across his chest, contributing to my excitement over doing slightly illicit, dangerous things – which is silly as Johnny could not be less threatening, but I try to go with the vibe I’ve conjured up. We are lying down now and the only noise in the room is the incredibly loud panting of the dog standing guard. I eye Floyd furtively and I swear the dog is shooting me looks of pure loathing – it’s more than a little distracting. “Johnny,” I pull back and whisper, “is there any chance you can put Floyd out of the room for a little while?” “No, I can’t, I’m sorry. He’s used to being here alone with me and he’ll get upset if I put him out.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It is beside the point to inquire whether one can describe Alatiel as a virgin without some risk of terminological inexactitude. What matters is that she is able to play the part with conviction, and thus ensure a long and contented marriage for herself and her husband. But of course the fascination of the story lies, not so much in its paradoxical, fairy-tale conclusion, as in its vivid account of Alatiel’s adventures, in which the disparity between resolution and deed, so often a feature of irregular sexual relationships, is a continual source of refined, ironic humour. When the princess is shipwrecked, she implores the three surviving members of her female retinue to preserve their chastity, ‘declaring her own determination to submit to no man’s pleasure except her husband’s – a sentiment that was greeted with approval by the three women, who said they would do their utmost to follow her instructions’. But it takes no more than an abundance of good food and precious wines to destroy such pious sentiments and bring her to bed with Pericone, the first of her lovers. Boccaccio’s mischievous comment at this point nicely highlights the impotence of good resolutions in the face of the unremitting demands of the flesh: She had no conception of the kind of horn that men do their butting with, and when she felt what was happening, it was almost as though she regretted having turned a deaf ear to Pericone’s flattery. And without waiting to be bidden before spending her nights so agreeably, often it was she herself who issued the invitation, not so much with words, since she could not make herself understood, as with deeds. 37 Of Alatiel’s nine separate lovers, three (Pericone, Marato and the Prince of Morea) are violently done to death by men who, fascinated by her beauty, are seized by an all-consuming desire to possess her; a fourth is seriously mutilated in a murderous duel with his brother arising from an argument over who is to have precedence in the enjoyment of her favours; a fifth (the Duke of Athens) is last reported defending his territory against an invading army that has been assembled to avenge the murder of her previous lover; a sixth (Constant) is taken prisoner by the Turks, who have learned that he is leading a dissolute life with his stolen mistress on the island of Chios, leaving himself wide open to attack; a seventh (Uzbek) is killed by a punitive expedition sent to avenge his treatment of Constant; an eighth (Antioco) dies peacefully is his bed, partly, one is encouraged to assume, because of his amorous exertions; whilst the ninth and last (the unnamed Cypriot merchant) is deprived of his mistress whilst away on a trading expedition in Armenia. Alatiel’s four-year progress is thus for the most part attended by death and destruction, by internecine strife occasioned by the accident of her quite extraordinary beauty.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  girls to preserve their virginity for Him.’ ‘But what if we become pregnant?’ said her companion. ‘What’s going to happen then?’ ‘You’re beginning to worry about things before they’ve even happened. We can cross that bridge if and when we come to it. There’ll be scores of different ways to keep it a secret, provided we control our own tongues.’ ‘Very well, then,’ said the other, who was already more eager than the first to discover what sort of stuff a man was made of. ‘How do we set about it?’ ‘As you see,’ she replied, ‘it is getting on for nones, and I expect all our companions are asleep. Let’s make sure there’s nobody else in the garden. And then, if the coast is clear, all we have to do is to take him by the hand and steer him across to that hut over there, where he shelters from the rain. Then one of us can go inside with him while the other keeps watch. He’s such a born idiot that he’ll do whatever we suggest.’ Masetto heard the whole of this conversation, and since he was quite willing to obey, the only thing he was waiting for now was for one of them to come and fetch him. The two nuns had a good look round, and having made certain that they could not be observed, the one who had done all the talking went over to Masetto and woke him up, whereupon he sprang instantly to his feet. She then took him by the hand, making alluring gestures to which he responded with big broad, imbecilic grins, and led him into the hut, where Masetto needed very little coaxing to do her bidding. Having got what she wanted, she loyally made way for her companion, and Masetto, continuing to act the simpleton, did as he was asked. Before the time came for them to leave, they had each made repeated trials of the dumb fellow’s riding ability, and later on, when they were busily swapping tales about it all, they agreed that it was every bit as pleasant an experience as they had been led to believe, indeed more so. And from then on, whenever the opportunity arose, they whiled away many a pleasant hour in the dumb fellow’s arms. One day, however, a companion of theirs happened to look out from the window of her cell, saw the goings-on, and drew the attention of two others to what was afoot. Having talked the matter over between themselves, they at first decided to report the pair to the Abbess. But then they changed their minds, and by common agreement with the other two, they took up shares in Masetto’s holding. And because of various indiscretions, these five were subsequently joined by the remaining three, one after the other.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Saladin perceived that the fellow had ingeniously side-stepped the trap he had set before him, and he therefore decided to make a clean breast of his needs, and see if the Jew would come to his assistance. This he did, freely admitting what he had intended to do, but for the fact that the Jew had answered him so discreetly. Melchizedek gladly provided the Sultan with the money he required. The Sultan later paid him back in full, in addition to which he showered magnificent gifts upon him, made him his lifelong friend, and maintained him at his court in a state of importance and honour. FOURTH STORYA monk, having committed a sin deserving of very severe punishment, escapes the consequences by politely reproaching his abbot with the very same fault. No sooner did Filomena stop talking, having reached the end of her tale, than Dioneo,1 who was sitting next to her and already knew it was his turn to address them because of the order in which they were speaking, began in the following manner without awaiting further instructions from the queen: Sweet ladies, if I have properly understood your unanimous intention, we are here in order to bring pleasure to each other with our storytelling. I therefore contend that each must be allowed (as our queen agreed just now that we might) to tell whatever story we think most likely to amuse. So having heard how Abraham’s soul was saved through the good advice of Jehannot de Chevigny, and how Melchizedek employed his wisdom in defending his riches from the wily manoeuvres of Saladin, I intend, without fear of your disapproval, to give you a brief account of the clever way in which a monk saved his body from very severe punishment. In Lunigiana,2 which is not all that far from where we are now, there is a monastery that once had a greater supply of monks and of saintliness than it nowadays has, and in it there was a young monk whose freshness and vitality neither fasts nor vigils could impair. One day, about noon, when all the other monks were asleep, he chanced to be taking a solitary stroll round the walls of the monastery, which lay in a very lonely spot, when his eyes came to rest on a strikingly beautiful girl, perhaps some local farmhand’s daughter, who was going about the fields collecting wild herbs. No sooner did he see her, than he was fiercely assailed by carnal desire.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Young men, it was not the desire for plunder, nor any hatred towards you personally, that impelled me to leave Cyprus and subject you to armed attack on the high seas. My motive was the acquisition of something which I value most highly, and which it is very easy for you to surrender to me peaceably. I refer to Iphigenia, whom I love more than anything else in the world. Since I was unable to obtain her from her father by friendly and peaceable means, Love has compelled me to seize her from you in this hostile fashion, by force of arms. And now I intend to be to her such as your master, Pasimondas, was to have been. Give her to me, then, and proceed with God’s grace on your voyage.’ The young men, more from necessity than the kindness of their hearts, handed over the weeping Iphigenia to her captor. ‘Noble lady,’ said Cimon, on perceiving her tears, ‘do not distress yourself. It is your Cimon that you see before you. The constant love I have borne you gives me far more right to possess you than the plighted troth of Pasimondas.’ Having seen that Iphigenia was taken aboard, he returned to his own ship and allowed the Rhodians to go with all their possessions intact. The winning of so precious a prize made Cimon the happiest man on earth. After spending some time consoling his tearful mistress, he persuaded his companions that they should not return to Cyprus for the present, and they all agreed to steer their ship towards Crete, where Cimon and most of the others had family ties, both recently made and long established, as well as numerous friends and acquaintances. And for this very reason they thought it safe to go there with Iphigenia. They had reckoned without the fickleness of Fortune, however, for no sooner had she handed the lady into Cimon’s keeping, than she converted the boundless joy of the enamoured youth into sad and bitter weeping. Scarcely four hours had elapsed since Cimon and the Rhodians had parted company, when, with the approach of night, to which Cimon was looking forward with a keener pleasure than any he had ever experienced, an exceptionally violent storm arose, filling the sky with dark clouds and turning the sea into a raging cauldron. It thus became impossible for those aboard to see what they were doing or steer a proper course, or to keep their balance sufficiently long to perform their duties.

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  I tell him I am struggling through an old Michael Chabon novel; he tells me he tried that one but couldn’t get through it. We talk about how we ended up in this area and marvel when we realize that not only did we grow up in the same suburban town, we even attended the same elementary school. He is three years older than me, so we don’t know many of the same people but we land on one or two in common. He seems familiar to me, not that I know him, but I feel like I could. Our conversation meanders and is thoroughly enjoyable; he is witty, charming, and attentive. My conversations with #1 and 2 were fun and flirty, but this is something different – he feels like a friend. We’ve passed a couple of hours without running out of steam, but it’s just us and the bartender now and I suggest that we should probably let him close up, so we reluctantly get up to leave. The rain has stopped, but the air outside is heavy and damp. “I would love to see you again if you want to share your number with me?” he asks. “Yes, that would be lovely,” I respond, and he puts my number into his phone. We are standing at my car already so it’s do-or-die time. “When are you available?” he asks. “I’m sure it’s hard for you to get away with your kids at home.” I raise my eyebrows. I don’t have an easy answer to this question: tomorrow, Georgia will return from sleepaway camp and then I’ve got kids home for the rest of the summer. “Well,” I say very slowly, “I’m available right now.” The meaning of my words sinks in and he chuckles softly. “That’s a more literal answer than I was expecting,” he says. “Just grabbing the bull by the horns,” I say with a soft laugh. “And the question of my future availability is anyone’s guess.” “What are you thinking about doing with your current availability?” he asks. “Going back to my house or yours,” I say, letting my forwardness float between us. “I’m not sure,” he says hesitantly. “I wasn’t expecting this tonight. My girlfriend and I broke up a few months ago and I haven’t been with anyone since.” “It’s OK,” I say. “I don’t have any expectations, it’s just that I’m not sure when I’ll be free again, so ...” He leans down toward me and kisses me. He’s tall, and I lean forward onto my toes to reach him. His kiss is soft and gentle. “OK,” he says, pulling back. “Let’s go to my house. It’s closer than yours plus I have to walk my dog.” Another dog, I think, my heart sinking. I follow him along dark winding roads. He knows the area well and drives fast; I have to concentrate to keep up.